A Life of His Own
by redrosemary
Summary: Fergus Cousland married for love and never really wanted to be Teyrn, leading his father to name his sister Lucilla instead as Heir of Highever. All these changed when Howe butchered his family, with Lucilla as sole survivor. Can he find her despite the Blight, and start a new life? Written for the May Minor Character Spotlight. COMPLETE.
1. The Heir of Highever

"Your sudden marriage puts me in a difficult position indeed!" Teyrn Bryce Cousland roared. "What in the Maker's name were you thinking?"

"What was I thinking?" Fergus answered back. "I want _a life of my own_! And I love Oriana, Father, and nothing in the world can change that."

It was a fine morning, one which Teyrna Eleanor would have deemed as unremarkable. Except that her husband, who usually had morning tea with her, was instead howling at their son. The lad had recently come home from Antiva after representing Ferelden on a diplomatic mission, which by Andraste's grace concluded as well as expected—but he came home as a married man.

Not that Oriana, the well-mannered daughter of a rich merchant prince, was an unlovable woman, or would not make a fine wife mother in her own right. Quite the contrary. She was warm and caring, and it was easy to see that she was a good, honest woman. While not being adept in swordsmanship or archery, as Eleanor her daughter Lucilla were, Oriana was quite the potions and poison expert. Her considerable skill and character made her a formidable woman, worthy of the Cousland tradition of strong women.

Eleanor and Bryce just _wished_ that the courtship and marriage of the Heir of Highever had followed protocol—meaning that the marriage had been acknowledged by the Landsmeet. Not like this—a discreet marriage in some provincial Chantry, sanctioned by a Revered Mother instead of the Grand Cleric herself, as their noble status had demanded.

"But you yourself said, Mother," Lucilla told her parents a little _too_ politely, "our lives are our own. You said we could marry whomever we want, within reason."

"Yes, that was the condition," the Teyrna said, trying to keep her voice down. " _Within reason_. Had Fergus told us first, had he made the necessary enquiries, instead of eloping like a—"

"Would you have approved, Mother?" Lucilla inquired. "Would Father have? I suppose my brother felt like he had no choice."

"Choice!" Bryce roared, fist slamming on the table. "You two have a choice: to do your duties or to shrink from them. Is it too much, Fergus, to have asked us first? Has being raised in comfort and luxury made you forget that with great privilege comes great responsibility? Is it too much to _ask_ you to do your duty, as all others in this family are?"

"Would we please try to resolve matters without shouting or breaking things?" Eleanor told her husband diplomatically.

"We are not ashamed of ourselves, Father," Fergus stated categorically, his eyes bright. "Oriana and I love each other. I would think you would be happy for us."

"You still should have sought our blessing," Eleanor chastised him. "You're the Heir of Highever. You need the Landsmeet's approval for your choice of bride."

"Let Lucilla be Heir," Fergus declared. "I don't want to be Teyrn."

"Fergus, be reasonable," Lucilla said. "You've been trained as Teyrn, the commander of the Northern forces. You're the elder child, for Andraste's sake. You're the Heir, not me!"

"I am _not_ throwing my life away, little sister," Fergus assured her. "I am trying to live it. I don't want to be like King Cailan, betrothed at an early age to a woman as beautiful as she is cold, stuck in a _childless_ and loveless marriage. I want a family with the woman I love."

"Holy Maker—" Lucilla gasped, as the Teyrn slapped Fergus with the back of his hand.

"She is with child? Already?" Eleanor asked, even as the family guessed the answer.

"I will stand by my decision," Fergus said with dignity at his parents. "Besides, Oriana and I are _married,_ in accordance with Chantry rites. The marriage is legal, I've checked with Brother Aldous and with the clerics in Denerim and Antiva City. There is no disgrace in her pregnancy."

Fergus looked his parents in their eyes. "Father, Mother, you have trained Lucilla and I with stewarding Highever with wisdom and justice. Lucilla excels at her training, the people love her, and the nobility will accept her. Let her be the Heir, to bear all the responsibility of House Cousland when the time comes. She'll be better at it than me, and happier."

The young man bowed at the three people in the room and left, even as Lucilla spun on her heel to follow her brother.

* * *

"It's most unfair, brother," Lucilla remarked as she and Fergus took a stroll outside the castle walls. "You get to live your life. I won't. I'll have to marry someone or another, with no assurance of love or happiness."

"As if stewarding Highever and being Teyrna won't make you happy, little sister," Fergus chided. "Oriana makes me happy. Ruling does not. Court procedures, intrigue, currying favor with the Landsmeet and the freeholders, those aren't my cup of tea. I prefer the simple life with the woman I love, raising our children away from all that."

"How come you get to marry for love when I couldn't?" she pouted. "You were supposed to court Delilah Howe, or Alfstanna Eremon, or Habren Bryland—"

"Habren Bryland! Maker spare me that fate, pup," Fergus chuckled. "Truth of the matter is, little sister, is what I told our parents. I love Oriana. I couldn't go on with life without her."

"So why didn't you ask our parents for their blessing?" Lucilla asked.

"Much easier to beg forgiveness than seek permission," Fergus answered, mirth still in his voice. "Besides, this way, I'm ensuring that I _never_ get to be the Teyrn while still assured that Highever will remain in good hands. Two birds with one stone. You'll make a fine leader, pup. You've always been."

"And marriage, what of that?" Lucilla asked sulkily. "Now you've tied my hands."

"The one selfish thing I'll ever ask of you, sister," Fergus answered as he took her hands. "Look. Not all arranged marriages are bad. Look at Mother and Father. They've worked it out. I'm sure you can, too."

"Do you ever see Thomas Howe cooperating with me?" she said jovially.

"No," Fergus conceded, "Just avoid Thomas and the bastard Vaughan Kendalls, and you'd be all right. How about the Wulff brothers, or handsome Teagan Guerrin? Didn't he dance with you at the Satinalia ball?"

"Well, Teagan is handsome, I suppose, but he's old," Lucilla chuckled. "At least we have something in common—a sense of decency and a preference for beautiful women. All right, Fergus. Because I'm the best sister in the world, you get to marry the love of your life and escape the responsibility of Highever, which you so gracefully put on my shoulders."

"Don't look so pouty, little sister, you know that you want it," Fergus said. "And you know it's for the best."

"Don't look so smug either, Fergus, you'd still be my heir until the time I beget children," Lucilla warned as she punched him lightly on the shoulder. "And I don't see that happening. At all."

* * *

Fergus did live in happiness and comfort in Castle Cousland. He couldn't ask for more—a loving wife, a fine son, and perhaps another on the way. Oriana was also loved by his family, the endearing girl that she was. At first, the Teyrna was cold towards her, but with Lucilla's prodding and the arrival of Oren, Eleanor finally gave in, and treated Oriana as she did Lucilla. Eventually the three women exchanged different notes about fighting and diplomacy, useful arts in times of war and peace both. Fergus and Eleanor even hoped that Oriana could teach Lucilla the gentler arts, and with time, the Antivan woman succeeded. Somewhat: Oriana was the only one whom Lucilla allowed to dictate what the younger woman should wear for evening affairs.

But Fergus couldn't evade his duties as a Cousland. He still bore their proud name, after all, and when King Cailan called for reinforcements at Ostagar, his father had been adamant that it was he, not Lucilla, who would lead their forces. Much to her chagrin, Lucilla had insisted on coming with them, but Bryce had taken her by the elbow.

"There will be Grey Wardens at Ostagar, pup," Bryce whispered to his children. "I cannot risk both my children recruited, or Maker forbid, conscripted. Better you stay here, away from them. You'll have your time in court soon enough."

"But Father, if Fergus is conscripted, what of Oriana and Oren?" Lucilla asked. "I have no children or husband to mind. I should go, or at least, go with you both."

"Don't strain my patience, pup," Bryce answered resolutely. "Better Fergus face the risk of conscription than the Heir of Highever. It's high time you learned to do your duty to Ferelden, son, while your sister does hers to Highever. And she'll have a hard time too, as only a handful of our forces will be remaining here."

"Will Arl Howe and his forces detour through Highever, or will they go straight to Ostagar?" Lucilla asked. The family knew of her distaste for Arl Howe, who was too eager to marry his son Thomas to her.

"Ah, Rendon. We're going to march together with the full forces of the North," Bryce said. "You need to learn how to be hospitable to your guests, pup, even if you don't agree to some of their agendas. Besides, it's only for a short while."

* * *

Fergus found himself unable to tell Oriana about his father's decision, but his wife was an astute woman. After tucking Oren in, husband and wife faced each other in bed. Oriana stroked his brow.

"Your father wants you to lead Highever's army," she said. As tender as her voice was, it was not a question.

"Yes," Fergus confirmed. "Luce is staying though. She'll take care of you and Oren for me, until I return."

"It's good for you to be seen serving the King," Oriana remarked. "You can erase all doubts of your patriotism when you married me."

"Hush, darling, don't say that," Fergus said. "Do you regret your life with me?"

"Of course not," Oriana said firmly. "You're the love of my life, Fergus, never doubt that. But I'm also aware of your sacrifices to be with me, and for that, I am forever grateful. I'd follow you, my darling, to the Void and back, but as that's not very practical, let me show you instead what I've been busy with."

Oriana stood up and opened a cabinet near their bed. There were dozens and dozens of bottles, vials and little jars of different sizes and colors. "This"—she held a vial with red liquid inside—"is a very potent health potion. And this—"she touched a yellow jar—"is a stamina potion, designed to boost your energy when you need it most."

Oriana pointed at other jars. "I've labeled all these. You'll have a full store of balms, poultices, potions, injury kits, bandages laced with elfroots and deep mushrooms, and antidotes for a dozen poisons. There are also some poisons and grenades here as potent as the ones used by master assassins of the Antivan Crows. A drop can stun or even kill a cow, so be _very_ careful when lacing your sword with them. The corresponding antidotes are all labeled accordingly, but it's better not to be poisoned at all, yes?"

Fergus couldn't resist laughing as his wife returned to their bed. "Ah, my beauty, the love of my life! You never cease astounding me. Will Oren be learning this stuff?"

Oriana was scandalized. "At the right age, Fergus, the right age! I also do not like your notion that he be sent to squire far away. Why can't Lucilla take him under her wing? And _must_ he really learn swordsmanship at this age?"

"My sister and I were his age when our parents taught us swordsmanship and archery," Fergus said, much to the chagrin of his wife. "Don't worry. We'll discuss with the family our best options for Oren after Ostagar. Also, if you make sure that Lucilla obtains a husband and bears children of her own, Oren and I will cease to be her heirs, and you can have us all to yourself."

"Don't tease me, I'm vulnerable," Oriana said, burying her face in her husband's chest. "All those potions are yours, love. And I've commissioned the best herbalists of the Castle so that all of our forces have some of those, too."

"Ah, my dear, dear wife, always looking out after me. With all your fussy potions, I'll go unscathed in battle." Fergus told her as he stroked her hair.

Fergus was scheduled to lead their forces to Ostagar with his father and Arl Rendon Howe that day. However, the Arl's men were delayed, and Oriana clutched him in fear.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Fergus," she whispered as she kissed him. "Make sure that you always have a bottle of each potion I've made on your belt."

Oriana, fussy as always, re-checked her husband's armor and bags. Finally conceding that he had everything he needed—sword, shield, boot dagger, armor all in the right places, pack full of trail food and her poultices and potions—she sighed and looked at him longingly.

"Oh, before I forget," Oriana said as she removed her amulet, which she had never taken off before. "This was given to me by my father, who acquired it from a Rivaini seeress. It's enchanted, and should protect you from stray arrows and treacherous blows."

"Oriana, darling, I can't," Fergus said. "That's your father's gift to you."

"And much use it does to me, dear husband," Oriana smiled as she placed the amulet lovingly around her husband's neck, "seeing as I never really fight any battles. Take it, and may Andraste guide you safely home."

In front of their son, however, they kept a façade of confidence and happiness. "Father, would you teach me how to play with a sword?"

"If your mother so allows, son," Fergus chuckled, as Oriana made a face.

"Can Auntie and Grandma teach me aw-chewy?"

"It's archery, Oren," Oriana said patiently. "Arrrrr. _Ar-che-ry_."

"Aw-chewy," the child repeated.

"How do you expect to learn archery and swordsmanship if you don't know how to say it properly?" Oriana asked their son.

A knock came at their door. "Fergus? Father wants to tell you something."

Fergus told his sister to come in.

"Hey, champ," she said as she knelt to Oren's height, and ruffled his hair. "Have you bid your Papa farewell? Did he promise to get you a sword when he returns?"

"Yes, Auntie, but that will take long!" the child pouted. "Mama says you'll take care of us while Papa's gone. Will _you_ teach me instead?"

"Only if your Mama agrees, champ," Lucilla said with a wink, and kissed her nephew on his hair.

"Feeling good today, sister?" she said warmly to Oriana, but her face was grim. "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting you and your rascal of a husband, but I've word from Father. He wants you—" she indicated Fergus—" to leave with the army. The Arl's men are delayed."

"Maker's breath," Fergus sighed. "Darkspawn to the South, and some people still don't have a good sense of time."

"There's also a Grey Warden here," Lucilla said matter-of-factly. "Says he's going to test Ser Gilmore."

"Good for him," Fergus agreed whole-heartedly. "Ser Gilmore's a good man, and he's always wanted to be a Warden. Perhaps _one_ recruit from Highever would be enough, and then you and I won't be in danger of conscription!"

"Now, now, Fergus, you mustn't say things like that," Eleanor's voice said from the doorway. "I would think you had a good grasp of diplomacy and tact by now."

"Father, why did you ask me to go to Fergus when you could have delivered your message yourself?" Lucilla groaned as her parents entered Fergus's apartments.

"And miss my children being in the same room at the same time?" the Teyrn said, pleased with his little scheme. "No. I want to bid you two farewell, as I won't be riding with Fergus. Tell the King I'll be arriving soon with the forces of Amaranthine. Rendon told me his men won't take too long."

"You'll take care of Mother, won't you, pup?" Fergus asked Lucilla.

" _You_ need taking care of. Mother doesn't," Lucilla replied.

"It's a shame she's not coming," Fergus joked, "she can scold the darkspawn back to the Deep Roads."

"Maker's breath, it's like living with little boys again," the older woman sighed.

"Maker bless our husbands and children, and look after them," Oriana prayed, as the family closed their eyes and echoed her prayer in their hearts.

The Couslands followed Fergus to the castle gate, where their considerable forces were getting ready for their long march south. Fergus kissed his mother, father, and sister goodbye, lifted Oren n the air to peck him on his cheek, and finally kissed Oriana on the mouth passionately.

Fergus took one last look at Castle Cousland and did not turn back again.


	2. The Road to Denerim

Fergus had struggled to live, and he had urged what was left of Highever's forces he had found—five men named Tuck, Smithson, Greene, Taylor and Mason, all knights sworn to House Cousland—wandering the Wilds after their ambush, so that they may return home. They used Oriana's potions and poultices wisely, and eventually were found by a Chasind tribe, who had admired their valor, and praised their courage and dedication to their King against the Darkspawn. Fergus had tried to reward them handsomely with what coin he and his men still had, but they refused to accept compensation for aiding soldiers as valiant as the knights of Highever.

However, the Chasind chief warned him not to go to Ostagar, which was overrun, and instead make for the village of Lothering further north. Some of the Chasind themselves had fled that way, and the Chief was also thinking of going north with his tribe as well. Fergus took the Chief's advice and thanked the man profusely.

It was not until Fergus his men reached Lothering that they had learned news of Ostagar and how much the Chief had understated, or did not know. Ostagar was not merely _overrun_. It was lost to the Darkspawn, the King and his Royal Guard decimated, the Grey Wardens all butchered and blamed for the King's demise. Teyrn Loghain pulled out Ferelden's army just in time to live and fight another day; presumably, the rest of Highever's forces had been saved and assimilated with the Royal Army that the Teyrn had pulled out.

But the heaviest blow fell later: rumors that in the North, Castle Cousland burned even before Ostagar was lost. King Cailan himself had sworn that his justice would fall swift and hard on Howe, the perpetrator of the massacre, but he was no more. Only one girl was saved from the massacre by the Warden-Commander Duncan, a haggard lass who barely spoke, and she was conscripted into the Wardens herself. Poor thing must have escaped the massacre of Highever, people murmured, only to betray King Cailan with the Wardens, and die a most ignoble death.

It had been a long and frightful nightmare, one which Fergus was not sure he would ever awake from. Castle Cousland, plundered and burned, all its inhabitants put cruelly to the sword, from its highest lord to its humblest servants. Elven servants, distinguished knights, Chantry acolytes, noble guests, scholars, smiths, Howe never distinguished. He slew them all.

Oren, his young son, who would never learn how to wield a sword, as he had promised. Oren, who would never know what love was, never drink ale, never be a man now. So young, so innocent.

His parents, his stern but loving Father, his stoic but thoughtful Mother. His strong but compassionate sister, who never got to marry, never got to rule Highever as she had always dreamed of. The sister whose ambition he supported, not just because her ascension paved the way for him to live the life he had wanted, but also because he knew she would be the leader that Highever and Ferelden needed.

Oriana, the love of his life. His gentle and caring wife, wise beyond her years, astute and clever. Never again would he kiss her tender lips, or caress her soft light brown hair, so rare for an Antivan woman. Never again would she prepare poultices for him, or hear her voice, or play with his hair.

The irony was not lost on him, either: Her poultices saved him, even as she died most harshly in the defense of their son, her poisons of no avail against the rage and treachery of his father's best friend.

His men insisted that he not shave his beard, and that he should keep his face and demeanor unkempt, so as not to be recognized. They had agreed to call him Tyson, a merchant's son from Waking Sea. His men were not less devastated by the rape of Highever—Tuck's wife was one of Eleanor's ladies-in-waiting, and Greene's youngest sister was Oren's nanny. All men mourned their loss in silence and dignity, determined to survive, go north, and learn what news they could.

Fergus himself did not know his options. For the thousandth time, he wished for his parents' wisdom, his wife's counsel, even his sister's chiding. He did not know whom he could trust. He barely spoke, and often played with his wife's amulet when he thought his men were not looking.

The men, however, were made of sterner stuff than Fergus himself was. They had taken turns going to town, while the rest protected Fergus, the last remaining Cousland and their liege lord. Whatever sorrows they carried, he was their rightful leader, and they did not forget it.

"Tyson," Greene spoke to Fergus deferentially one day after returning from the nearby village, "what about your family's house in the capital?"

"The Butcher would have plundered it too," Fergus replied, referring to Howe. He had guessed that his men wanted a bit of comfort of home, and were sick of living in tents.

"It's not that we are unused to living off the land, Lor—Tyson," Smithson said, correcting himself just in time. "It's just that we had heard that the Butcher had taken the Arling of Denerim as well. I'm guessing that he would have left your family's Denerim house alone after plundering it, and settled in Arl Urien's place. No offense, but Arl Urien's place is better than yours. In Denerim, at least."

"How about your father's friends?" Mason inquired, careful in his choice of words in case they were overheard. "Friends in South Reach, Redcliffe, Waking Sea, Dragon's Peak or Southron?"

"We can't trust anybody, lads," Tuck opined, "unless Tyson here agrees. What say you?"

Fergus's mind raced. His own father's best friend had betrayed his entire family. His men should forgive him if he could not bring himself to trust any other noble after that.

Fergus wanted to tell his men something, anything, to boost their morale. But he couldn't find the words, and so the men decided to just continue north to Denerim.

* * *

And so the men travelled north to Denerim, little more than outlaws, but deadly in their wrath. Most people left them alone, even as the occasional bandit tried their luck on the Highever men. But Fergus and his companions survived; all of them were hunters, and Oriana had sent so many poultices and potions with them. Even after those had run out, Fergus and the others had learned enough from her to make their own.

How long they had travelled, Fergus's men knew, but he himself cared not. He walked without purpose, and drew his blade only to defend himself and his men. He worked and fought as hard as anyone, and did not complain; he found little reason to speak. He cried in his sleep, like his men did sometimes, pining for their families and ever fearful of the threat of Darkspawn, and counted themselves as incredibly blessed to encounter only wolves, bears and the occasional bandit.

Over the next few days they learned that even as the Darkspawn ravaged the South, Teyrn Loghain, who had been declared Regent, and Teyrn Howe, who had acquired too many noble titles by butchering nobles, had plunged their country in civil war. Two Wardens also survived Ostagar, and if rumors were to be believed, were mustering an army to counter the wretched horde.

 _Idiotic move_ , he thought about Howe and Loghain. Those very men who would have disapproved of a foreign marriage were killing and plotting against each other even as a more dangerous and undiscriminating enemy was at their doorstep, ready to level them all in fire and death!

But not all was doom and gloom for the men. Happy news reached them near Denerim: Smithson and Taylor had found a wanted poster with sketches of a young man and woman. The man was tall and blond, but the dark-haired woman with chiseled features was familiar to all of them.

 _Wanted for the Death of King Cailan and High Treason: Grey Wardens Alistair and Lucilla Cousland. Warden Alistair is wanted DEAD or ALIVE, reward: Fifty sovereigns if alive, Seventy sovereigns if dead. Warden Lucilla is wanted DEAD or ALIVE, but reward is higher if caught ALIVE: Seventy sovereigns, alive, Forty sovereigns dead. Warning: Extremely dangerous and armed; may be travelling with armed mercenaries._

"She lives, my lord," Tuck said as tears flowed from all of their eyes, all formalities and disguised speeches aside.

"More than ever, we need to survive," Mason said, and the men concurred.

"She is Teyrna, then?" Greene and Taylor enquired from Fergus.

"Yes, she is, and we all need to live and pledge our allegiance to her," Fergus said.

His men embraced him, their hearts lifted, grateful that at least, Lucilla had survived.

Fergus had wanted to enter Denerim himself to hear rumors about the Wardens himself, but all of his men concurred that it was too dangerous for him. He eventually managed to convince them to let him enter the city and blend in as refugees if they bought him white hair dye, which he applied immediately after Tuck had returned from the market.

Fergus looked like an old man in his white hair dye: he had aged twenty years following their march from Highever, as did his men. His cloak snug about him, and his hood covering his face as an additional protection his men had insisted, their band entered the Fereldan capital as just another group of refugees fleeing the Darkspawn.

He ordered a drink from the barkeep, careful with what little coin he had left. Behind him were Tuck and Mason, while the rest of their band sat on a corner table, listening to news.

"Any interesting stuff going on, messre?" Fergus asked nonchalantly as the barkeep poured them some ale.

The barkeep looked around, and then whispered, "It's said that Andraste herself lifted Her Holy Hand to save Arl Eamon, who was poisoned by the Regent himself. Who'd believe it! And even more incredibly, Maric had a bastard, that Warden Alistair, who's Eamon's own ward before he carted the lad away to the Chantry. That Alistair and his companion, Lucilla, whom they say used to be a great noble, have mustered mages, dwarves, even those creepy Dalish hunters and formed their own army to counter the Blight, like some old legend sprung into life."

"What does she look like?" Fergus asked. "The woman, Lucilla."

"They say she's a great beauty," the barkeep said. "As beautiful as she is dangerous, over six feet tall, shooting lightning from her eyes. I'm not rightly sure about that part, but she could be a mage for all I know. But it's not her who's interesting, not in my opinion. It's Maric's bastard, the Alistair fellow. He got declared King by the Landsmeet but two weeks ago! Palace gossip had it that he was betrothed to Queen Anora himself, lucky bastard, but the engagement went downhill when he killed the Regent in front of her. Some sort of vengeance for leaving good King Cailan to die on the battlefield and blaming the Wardens for it."

"But what about Lucilla?" Fergus insisted, not really caring for politics.

"The lass? Some say she ought to be Queen herself, and the King is wooing her, the real power behind him. But if she's a mage, with all that lightning business, she can't be queen, can she?"

"Don't believe that pile of shite, Boss," a waiter said as he passed. "They say the woman Warden is the brains behind it all, not the handsome King."

"What do they say about where she came from?" Fergus asked as he felt Tuck elbow him, as if advising him to be cautious about his questions.

"Yeah, she seems like a nice bonny lass," Mason said to reinforce Fergus's question. "She really a mage or not?"

"I don't think she's a mage," the waiter said. "I've seen her in _The Pearl_ , I did. She fought quickly with her sword and dagger, and she wasn't the one casting spells, but a gorgeous woman clad in rags and leathers. But the Lucilla woman, Sanga says she must be noble-born, from how she acted and walked, so sure and full of herself. Others are also gossiping about how she had slain Howe himself in his own house."

"Howe and his men are right all bastards," the barkeep commented. "Vengeance or not, the Warden did Ferelden a favor when she plunged her father's sword through that slimy beast's heart. And the place wasn't even Howe's, to begin with. It's Arl Urien's, the sorry bastard."

That was all Fergus needed to hear, and he tossed some coin to the barkeep. He went back to his companions at their table.

"What did you hear?" Fergus whispered, careful that he not be overheard.

"That she's alive, and we can find her at the Arl of Redcliffe's estate," Greene answered. "Tyson, we need to go there. It's three blocks away, near the Market District."

"Are you sure?" Fergus asked.

"Dead sure," Greene assured him. "Most people here are whispering about how Lady Lucilla and the Bastard King have been under Arl Eamon's wing."

* * *

With all speed they could muster without arousing suspicion, the band rushed to the Arl of Redcliffe's Denerim estate.

"I want an audience with the Warden Lucilla," he told the two guards stationed at the gate.

"Move it, old man," one of them spat.

"Don't you dare speak to him like that," Tuck said, even as Mason opened his mouth to utter similar words.

Fergus drew back his hood, and pulled his signet ring bearing the sigil of House Cousland.

"Let me rephrase it. I, Lord Fergus Cousland of Highever, demand an immediate audience with Warden Lucilla, also of House Cousland, who is staying with the Arl of Redcliffe."

"Could it be?" the gardener, who was tending the lawn nearby, gasped. "You are Lord Fergus, Her Grace's brother?"

"Aye," Fergus said imperiously. "Please take me to her immediately. I am sure she is as anxious to see me as I am."

Another servant, this time a young elf, went to the front gates. "I'm sorry, my lord, but the Wardens and His Grace the Arl have left many days ago for Redcliffe. They've word that the Darkspawn are mustering there, and the bulk of their forces are also stationed at Arl Eamon's castle."

Fergus clenched his fist. " _Her Grace_ did not leave word about me? And why do you address her as such?"

"Beg pardon Lord," the elf said, "but Her Grace has been formally declared by the Landsmeet as the Teyrna of Highever, pending your return. I believe that the King is also—"

"Shut it, Nigella! We aren't sure if this is indeed Her Grace's brother," the guard said.

"But I recognize his sigil, Ser Harper!" the elf, Nigella, said. "I recognize it from His Majesty's old shield, which he used until Warden, er, Teyrna Lucilla gave him the new Warden shield."

"Be that as it may," the guard said, "we aren't sure. What if this man stole the signet ring?"

"I understand your plight, ser," Fergus said, addressing the guard. "You have but my word, and I understand how my men and I appear. I will be more than happy to prove myself to your lord, or any other man with authority in this castle."

The guards looked uneasy, and sent Nigella to fetch the rest of what Fergus thought must be the token force left Arl Eamon left to guard his estate. The guards convened, until one of them said,

"I will send a runner to Bann Alfstanna, who will verify your identity. Meanwhile, we will send word to Arl Eamon and the Wardens about your arrival, and hope that until their reply, you shall find the guest wing comfortable."


	3. The Battle of Denerim

Bann Alfstanna Eremon arrived later that evening, accompanied by her guard.

"By the Maker! Fergus, you're alive!" she exclaimed as she embraced her old friend. She turned to Eamon's guards and verified their lofty guest's identity. The guards left, presumably to send word to their Arl immediately.

"Alfstanna, old friend," Fergus said, and he smiled for the first time in what seemed like ages. The Bann noticed the deep lines on his face, which were non-existent the last time she had seen him. Though Fergus had bathed and wore better clothes, he still looked weary and battle-worn.

"It's such a pity that you didn't catch your sister," Alfstanna said. "I've met her weeks ago, at the Landsmeet. Highever is restored to your family, as ordered by the King and concurred by the Landsmeet. But Fergus, you must tell me how you survived!"

"The Chasind tended to my wounds, and me and my men have gone north to Denerim, hoping to blend in with the refugees," Fergus answered simply, and Alfstanna received the hint that the man would prefer not to talk about wounds that were still fresh. "Did someone else… from home… survive?"

Alfstanna shook her head in sorrow, unable to say anything, so instead she asked, "Where will you stay, Fergus?"

"I will march to Redcliffe upon first light," the grim man answered. "Where my sister is, I must go. I need to see her with my own eyes. I need to hear from her what had happened that night after I left."

"That is most unwise, old friend," Alfstanna commented. "The Horde is mustering in Redcliffe, and I'm sure there's going to be a great battle there. You're safer here in the city. I'm sure that Arl Eamon would not object to you staying here in his estate, but I could offer you my hospitality instead in my estate. Or do you want a room at _The Gnawed Noble_?"

Fergus was not able to answer, as Tuck and Greene barged into the room.

"Beg pardon, milord, milady," Tuck said hurriedly, panic evident in his voice. "But runners from the city are saying that we should evacuate. The darkspawn horde is coming, with the Archdemon."

* * *

The King had ordered the forced evacuation of the city of Denerim, but those who could take up arms would be welcomed to fight alongside the Wardens and their army. Alfstanna, who had pledged support to him during the Landsmeet, readied what soldiers she had brought from the Waking Sea to augment the Royal Army.

Fergus had decided to throw his lot with Alfstanna, who was sending her soldiers to augment what army the City of Denerim still had. He and his men donned their armor again, the grim men of Highever, and with what forces Denerim had, they marched to defend the gates.

It was utter chaos. Darkspawn were everywhere as if springing to the ground. He decapitated one, then another, and another—

 _"So many darkspawn to behead, so little time," he told Oriana, who had laughed._

 _Oriana. My heart, my soul. My wife, my life._

 _My beloved Oriana._

He had seen his wife again, and he cried her name.

"Lord Fergus!" a familiar voice shouted from afar. "Lord Fergus! Watch out!"

Fergus was brought back to reality when Tuck, who had been running towards him, fell to his knees, an ugly arrow piercing his gut.

"Tuck! No!" Fergus screeched. "We have to get you to the healers, quickly!"

"It's been an honor to serve House Cousland, m'lord," Tuck mumbled. "Go, save yourself. I beg of you, sire, s-save yourself. I shall—I shall tell your f-father what a fine man you've b-become."

"Tuck, the healers' tents are that way! We can still make it!" Fergus insisted. "I'm not losing another one from House Cousland—"

With his dying breath, Tuck shoved Fergus away, and taunted the oncoming darkspawn. "Here, you Maker forsaken bastards! Take me! Run, Fergus!"

* * *

Fergus ran, not really knowing where to go. Until he saw a last mustering near the gates, where there were no darkspawn but men chanting—"Maker go with you, Wardens!" "Kill those godless bastards!" "Long live the King!"

He could see them now—a man donning what he thought was King Cailan's fine dragonbone armor; a woman scantily clad in rags and leather; a red-headed girl in leathers carrying a longbow; and—a young woman whose face he would never forget, their father's sword and a dagger in her back.

His sister.

"Lucilla!" Fergus cried desperately as he ran, knowing that he could never catch up to her. "Lucilla!"

An arrow pierced his leg, but he couldn't stop running. He couldn't even think where it came from. And then another pierced his shoulder, and then another, which was fortunately stopped by his heavy silverite armor—and the world darkened.

He opened his eyes and saw his mother.

"M-mother?" he asked. He looked around, and saw his mother in a sea of white. "Where are we?"

"Fergus, my brave boy," his mother wept as she wrapped her arms around him. "You've become quite the man, haven't you?"

"Mother," Fergus cooed, as he wrapped his arms around her. "Mother, I've missed you so. What happened to you?"

"You know what happened to us," his mother replied in a calm, compassionate voice. "I do not want to cause you further trouble, Fergus. But you need to rest now, and decide—do you want to rest forever, or do you want to rest a while, and return?"

"What will happen if I return, Mother?"

"That is entirely up to you."

"Will you be all right? Is Oriana and Oren all right? What about Father?"

"Worry not about us, my son," his mother said gently. "My fine boy. We will always be proud of you, no matter what you choose. You can live your life, to find your sister, who yet lives, or… go on, and maybe find your wife and son. But they shall not be as they were, Fergus, and you cannot have what you had before."

Fergus sobbed openly. He was reminded of how he had survived the darkspawn ambush in the Korkari Wilds, of the kind Chasind who had tended to his wounds, of Oriana's potions and poultices that had kept him alive in ways more than one. He remembered his men's enthusiasm when they had heard that Lucilla was alive, and how knowing that two Couslands remained had lifted their spirits. He remembered the long search for his sister, and how it was the only reason why he did not fall to his sword. Finally, he remembered Tuck's sacrifice to keep him alive.

"I want a life of my own," he told his mother, who had tears in her eyes even as she smiled. "I've found Lucilla, and now... I want to live, mother. I want to live again. I shall always remember you, father, Oren, and Oriana, but…"

"I think that is what they want for you as well," the spirit said. "Live, Fergus Cousland. Live your life. Do not carry the weight of the dead on your shoulders. Remember us in your heart instead. "

* * *

When Fergus Cousland opened his eyes, he was in a tent, but all around he could hear celebratory voices.

"We've won?" he asked his healer, a kindly old mage.

"Yes, ser," she replied. "Warden Lucilla—the Teyrna of Highever—had plunged her sword in the Archdemon's skull. Or she cut its head off, I'm not sure. I wasn't with them. But with the dragon's death, the Darkspawn lost purpose, and it became much too easier to kill them. It's been what, two days now."

"Where is she?" Fergus asked. He wanted to stand and look for her, but a terrible pain in his gut prevented him.

"Hush, now," the healer said. "I've tended to your wounds, but these won't heal immediately. Especially if you keep moving."

Fergus stayed in his cot in the healers' tents for around a week, after which he was able to walk with the help of a stick. He found what was left of their band—only Mason, Greene and Smithson had survived. Smithson and Mason were fortunate in that they weren't separated from Bann Alfstanna's forces. Greene alone had survived the Battle of Denerim unscathed, and to him fell the sorry task of looking for their comrades. He found Tuck's body near the gates, and Taylor's near Fort Drakon. Both men had died in the defense of others.

Together, the men scribbled Tuck and Taylor's names in the list of casualties, which the Chantry collected under royal orders and so that they could be given proper funeral rites.

* * *

Fergus washed the dye off his hair, determined that he find his sister quickly and that she would be able to recognize him. He and his men have a renewed purpose now—to see their Teyrna, now called the Hero of Ferelden, so they put their ear to the ground. Finally, after one and a half weeks, Greene was able to verify that Lucilla Cousland was healing in what was left of the Royal Palace.

Getting to the Royal Palace was not as easy as he had supposed. Arl Eamon's knights guarded the place, and did not allow simple well-wishers to visit the legendary Hero. "She's resting but would make her appearance in due time" was all they said about her.

Fergus lost his patience. "I am Lord Fergus Cousland, sister to the Warden Lucilla! I demand that you take me to her."

"Look, champ," one of the guards wearily said. "I don't care if you're Andraste's water carrier or something. The Hero is a strong woman, but even _she_ needs to rest after falling from the back of a dragon. Come back later."

"I demand to see someone with authority here!" Fergus barked, copying the authoritarian tone he sometimes heard his father and sister use.

Finally, an elderly man in fancy clothing noticed him as he argued with the guards. The guards immediately saluted him—

"Arl Eamon!" Fergus cried. "I beg you, take me to my sister. I have travelled far and wide to search for her."

"Fergus Cousland?" Eamon asked, his eyes widening. "Bann Alfstanna said that she had met you, but you were lost in the battle. Are these your men?" he asked, pointing to Greene, Mason and Smithson.

"How is Lucilla?" Fergus said. "And yes, they're with me, Sers Greene, Mason and Smithson, loyal retainers of House Cousland."

"Recovering, though she still can't walk without her walking stick," Eamon responded. "Don't worry. The mages have assured me that she will recover in time."

"What happened to her?" Fergus inquired as the guards had let him and his men in.

"I'm not rightly sure," Eamon said. "After beheading the dragon, there was this terrible blast. Most people there passed out, me included. The mages who tended to her also said she had lost a lot of blood from her wounds, greatly sapping her strength. But she's out of all danger right now."

They turned on a corner, and Eamon and his men stepped back. "She should be up by now."

* * *

 **A/N:** Fergus and Lucilla's reunion, as well as Fergus meeting his sister's betrothed, are elaborated in a later chapter of my work **"The Road to His Queen's Heart."** Check it out!


	4. Epilogue

In the end, it was Fergus himself who became Teyrn of Highever. Lucilla had married the King, and could not very well have stewarded Highever herself as her new position, and Fergus suspected her husband as well, demanded she devote her time in court. Moreover, as Warden-Commander, she had to facilitate the rebuilding of the Grey Warden Order in, of all places, Amaranthine. Fergus did not envy her one bit, and knew she was delaying her journey to the Howe ancestral home.

"I had a conditional ascension as Teyrna," she explained to him as they strolled around the Palace gardens, days after they had found each other. "It was either I marry the King and become Queen and cede the Teyrnir to you if you are found, or be the Teyrna without marrying the King, or abdicate any and all of our family's claims in Highever, and let it pass to others. I could never let go of Highever, but neither could I leave the poor King by himself. So I accepted the Teyrnir with the condition that when you are found, you will be Teyrn, and I could do my duties to as Queen and Commander of the Grey."

"You accepted that deal, knowing I was lost?" Fergus asked.

"I never lost hope that you're still alive," Lucilla answered. "Were you not found, I would have sent men everywhere to find you. I would have scoured Ferelden just to find you, and believe me, I'm good at finding people. It's just a very good thing that you've spared us that, at least."

"But you remember that Father himself wanted you to be Teyrna?" Fergus reminded his sister, and sadness fell upon them both.

"I can't be Teyrna and Queen both," Lucilla said. "My life is not my own now. It's never been. And I envy you that at one time, you were able to find what I could never have."

Fergus strained to hear the words his sister left unsaid: that she had married out of a sense of duty, not out of love.

Lucilla then explained the details of a Warden's life—the life expectancy, nightmares, increased appetites and stamina, the secrecy of the Order, and all other things she had guessed about their elusive Order. She did not hide from her brother her disdain that from the moment their father bade her join the Wardens in order to save her life, her life ceased belonging to her alone. And she made no secret of what she thought about King Alistair: a man with a good heart and a sensible enough head on his shoulders, but one who was not well versed in politics and the intricacies of day-to-day administration.

"You have the chance to rebuild not just your life, but the lives of everyone in Highever," she told him kindly. "Of course, I cannot really _compel_ you to go back home, but like Father, I'd remind you of your _duty_."

The two were silent for a long while. "I've thought about it, honestly," Fergus confided in his sister. "I still don't _want_ to rule Highever. And our home will never be… never be the same again. But for you, and for our people, and for the memory of our family, I will take the mantle of leadership. I will take the Teyrnir."

"Nothing is the same," Lucilla concurred as she leaned on her brother. "But our duty remains, Fergus. You know that. Even at his dying breath, Father reminded us. We Couslands always do our duty."

"You are so calm in doing your duty," Fergus remarked. "I envy you that."

"It's because I never had anyone like Oriana whom I had to fight for," Lucilla said kindly, and she meant it. "If I had, I would refuse the Teyrnir, too. You were so lucky to have known love, brother, where I only knew duty. But such is the way of life."


End file.
